already ruled out
glass, ceramic, and steel. They’d prove far too noisy and might be even worse
than what Wilmer already has.
Wood? Nobody eats out of a
wooden bowl, except maybe hill people or the Amish. A few green earther,
hipster types perhaps. Those are out of here. Paper? Won’t last long enough. No
go. Which leaves me with plastic. A perfect choice. It’s durable, microwavable,
easy to clean, and most importantly… quiet! Nothing but soft dinks or dunks emitting from the material.
I set out looking for a hard
plastic bowl. One that will last for a good while, being sturdy enough to
satisfy Wilmer’s many bizarre uses. It must have a good robust feel, yet not be
too heavy. You’d be surprised by how many plastic bowls are weighted improperly
and don’t help facilitate eating one little bit. Others are flimsy and melt
down after one trip to the microwave. Then there is color to think about. What
would Wilmer most enjoy? I figure purples, pinks, and blues are out. Nothing
too eccentric or feminine. A nice clear opaque bowl would be best. A neutral no
one will dislike this styled dish.
Another problem facing me is
the shape. Wilmer has always utilized an overly large bowl. Some kind of size
queen, is he. Which means I’ll have to find a plastic bowl of similar size and
shape. Just your basic half circle design, nothing fancy. I don’t require any
ornate side squashed or spout handled style like so many of the “effeminate”
male households use.
Don’t think I’m not a thorough
planner either. Nothing can be further from the truth. In fact… I’ve even
brought a spoon with me to the store. This will serve as my tester. Leave
nothing to chance.
An employee heads in my
direction. She’s an overweight grandmotherly woman with a slightly misshapen
head. Of course she has the “old woman” style hair. It’s fairly short, curly,
and plastered stiff.
“Can I help you find
anything?” she asks with inquisitive eyes.
I ponder the question before
answering with sharp and clear words.
“Why yes, yes you can. I’m
looking for a bowl about yay big,” I hold my hands out to show the size. “Also,
it cannot make any noise or very little noise when this spoon clinks against
it.” I retrieve the spoon from my pocket, dramatically thrusting it into the
air. The woman’s eyes glue to the object, like I’ve just presented a priceless
“Hmm, okay. I’m sure we can
find something for you sweetie.” She looks at me with squinty eyes and a sweet,
dear smile. Can I trust such a vile creature? This little grandmother waddles
over to the rows of plastic dishes, a slight hunch protruding from her upper
back. She begins pointing them out. She grabs one off the shelf and offers it
to me. I don’t dare take it from her hands -- but instead, simply tap on the
rim with my spoon. A dull thud resonates. Hmm…Definitely not the sharp,
high-pitched sound of glass. This particular bowl would be very suitable, but…
is it the best? I can’t run the risk of having Wilmer reject my gift.
My lips pull to one side of
the mouth with hesitation.
“Mmhmm,” grandmother says. She
nods her head and sets the bowl down. The woman then picks up another, holding
it toward me. I tap on it. Another dull thud emits. The sound is tolerable. But
again, is this the best choice? Surely there are better bowls available. The
woman replaces it on the shelf and we move down the row.
“Oh my God!” she exclaims,
covering her rosy cheeks with soft, tiny hands.
I look where she’s looking --
we both freeze. Neither of us can move. We’re spellbound, entranced, mesmerized.
“It’s…” I cannot even finish
“It’s…” she says, still
holding her cheeks.
My hand, wielding the spoon,
reaches out ever so slowly… it unconsciously taps the on the brim. There’s
barely a sound. The color is clear opaque, the plastic is sturdy, and on its
label is written the word: MICROWAVABLE.
“It’s perfect!” we